i love the rain   love the way it drips down 
my nose and makes it itch   crave the sound 
of droplets pounding against my window   reminding 
the glass   me   how fragile it is   when i was younger 
i ran an illegal horse racing track out of our beat-up Subaru 
to make ends meet except the horses were made of rainwater
and i was five and didn’t have any bills to pay 

i’m kneeling on the hard ground of my grandparent’s 
church watching the rain   i haven’t been in this church 
for years   when i was six we went to see my dad’s parents in
Ohio for a week   on Sunday my grandmother woke 
me up at six and pulled a frilly dress over my head   stuck pins 
in my hair that scratched at my scalp   we drove for two hours to a 
small   swelteringly hot building and then sat for another three 
listening to an old man talk   i decided that i didn’t like churches after that 

my head is angled at the floor and i’m supposed to be praying but 
i don’t know any verses   mantras   anything beyond quotes from 
The Chronicles of Narnia   i’ve been in this situation more 
than you’d expect   staying over for dinner at 
houses with crosses hanging over every doorway   and houses 
that don’t but like to say a quick prayer over each meal   maybe 
i should’ve paid more attention 

because now i’m just thinking about rain   and hating myself for 
it because my grandfather’s dead and all i can think about 
is the thrumming of water outside   the shadows it casts on the floor 
in front of me intermingling with the drops of water falling
​from everyone’s face but mine and wish i’d asked him if he loved the rain too
Zoe Reay-Ellers is a writer from Washington State. You can find her work in The Heritage Review, and The Eunoia Review. When not writing, she can be found baking and taking long walks. 
@KMidelan on twitter
header image: Danish Ahmad via Pexels